Privateer Possible
by LTAOZFAN
Summary: Kim learns some things about an ancestor of hers who was a sea captain during the War of 1812.
1. Chapter 1

**Privateer Possible - Prologue**

**Author's Explanation:** At one point in my first Kim Possible fanfic, "The Claws of the Kitten," James Possible told Tim & Jim that one of their ancestors was a privateer, and not a pirate.

This new story developed as I thought about that ancestor, what he might have done, and how Kim came to know about him. It takes place before "The Claws of the Kitten."

Read on, and learn . . .

_An Account of the Cruises of Rodger Possible, Captain of a Privateer During the Late War With England._ _Boston, James P. Sullivan, Publisher, 1840._ Kim Possible looked up from the title page of the old book in her hands, and spoke to her father.

"You mean this is about one of our ancestors, Daddy?"

James Possible nodded. "That's right, Kimmie-cub. He served in the Navy, and during the War of 1812 he was captain of a privateer."

Tim Possible and his twin brother Jim seemed to materialize out of thin air. "Dad, you mean, . . . " Tim eagerly began.

" . . .one of our ancestors was a _pirate_?" Jim finished.

"That would be . . . COOL!" the two boys chorused

Kim turned her gaze on her two younger brothers and gave them a look that mixed annoyance and a promise of retribution for their interruption. 'The Tweebs,' as Kim called them, had a habit of showing up unnecessarily that was almost as annoying as their habit of completing each other's sentences.

"No, boys," Kim's father was explaining to his sons, "he was a privateer. That's a civilian who has a license from the government to go to sea in his own ship and capture enemy ships during a war."

"Not a pirate?" Tim's disappointment was obvious.

"Not cool." Jim was equally depressed.

Having an ancestor who was a pirate would have been something to talk about at school, but this didn't sound at all interesting. Then they both noticed Kim's glare.

"Gotta go!" said Tim.

"Later, Kim!" added Jim, and they did a fast fade out of the dining room.

James Possible seemed to hardly notice his two sons' exit. "I think you should know about Rodger Possible, Kim. In some ways you're a lot like him."

"You mean he helped people and saved the world?" she said in an impish voice.

"Not exactly, but if you read some of this you'll find out what I mean." Kim's father tapped the book on the table between them. "Just take care of the book, and let me have it back when you're done with it."

"Okay, Daddy." Kim rose from her chair, picked up _An Account . . . _and went upstairs to her room. She put the old book on a shelf in her bookcase, and promptly forgot about it.

One evening, three days later, Kim was at loose ends. She'd finished her homework, her mother was on duty at the Middleton Memorial Hospital that night, Tim and Jim were doing a sleep-over with school friends, and James Possible was supervising the midnight launch of a deep-space probe to the planet Mercury at the Space Center. Her BFBF Ron Stoppable and his parents were out of town at a family reunion, while Kim's BGF Monique Jenkins was at her after-school job at the Middleton Mall Club Banana, taking inventory. There were no new hits on her website, either.

As she reviewed her mental list of options, Kim looked around the room until her gaze settled on her bookcase and the shelf where the book her father had loaned her now sat. She crossed the room, picked up the old volume, and decided to read a few things about the life and career of Rodger Possible.

First Kim made sure Rufus, Ron's pet naked mole rat, was snugly settled in a nest she had made for him with a towel on her desk. Ron had not taken Rufus with him to the reunion because one of Ron's grandmothers had an intense fear of rodents, so Kim was 'Rufus sitting' for the weekend.

"I won't keep you awake, will I?" Kim addressed Rufus. The little fellow shook his head and gave the chirp that Kim had learned meant 'Nope!'

She was used to the way Ron treated Rufus almost like a brother instead of a pet, but Kim had yet to realize that she treated him as a person almost as much as Ron did.

As Kim curled up on the bed, she thought, _I hope this isn't too dull._ Carefully opening the book, she turned to the first chapter and began to read.

**TBC . . .**

**Author's Disclaimer and Notes:** The Disney Company owns the Kim Possible concept and characters. The War of 1812 is part of American history. The plot of this story is my responsibility.

Please leave a review if you can. All comments and criticism will be replied to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Privateer Possible - Part One**

**Author's Explanation:** At one point in my first Kim Possible fanfic, "The Claws of the Kitten," James Possible told Tim & Jim that one of their ancestors was a privateer, and not a pirate. This new story developed as I thought about that ancestor, and what he might have done.

My thanks to CajunBear73, Mahler Avatar and muzzlehatch for their comments on the Prologue.

Some of the terms used in this story may be unfamiliar to many readers, so I will include a list of those terms, with explanations, with each part of the story as they are introduced.

Now, read on, and learn about a seagoing member of the Possible family . . .

Rodger Possible was an Irish-American who wanted to go to sea when he was ten. His family, however, had insisted that he continue his education until he was at least fourteen years old. Eventually, in February 1803, he became a Midshipman in the tiny American Navy, and in May of 1803, one month shy of his fifteenth birthday, he joined the crew of the 44-gun United States frigate _Constitution_, Commodore Edward Preble in command. That August the frigate sailed for the Mediterranean to take part in the war between Tripoli and the United States. Midshipman Possible would not see home again for four years, and when he did he would hold the rank of Acting Lieutenant.

By early 1809 Rodger was a full Lieutenant, but resigned his Navy commission to become the captain of a fast schooner owned by his uncle. During the next three years he gained a reputation as a skillful captain who knew how to handle a fast ship in any weather. He carried cargoes to Canada, the Caribbean and Bermuda, and skillfully evaded two British warships seeking to impress seamen from his crew. (At that time England and France were at war, and Royal Navy ship captains had the right to 'impress,' or force into their crews, any English seaman they could find. Whether they really were English or not didn't always matter.)

Rodger felt that war with England was likely before 1812 was over, and if it came the American government would be certain to issue 'letters of marque and reprisal' for citizens who fitted up small ships as privateers. During the American Revolution many men had made handsome profits by financing those private warships that preyed on English merchant shipping. A few had become fabulously wealthy. Therefore, Rodger arranged for the building of a vessel that could be either a fast merchantman or a privateer, however the course of history went. And when America declared war against Great Britain on June 18, 1812, Rodger's new brig, the _Kimberly Ann_, was ready for duty.

In mid-August, 1812, when the _Kimberly Ann_ set sail on her first cruise, many deep-water sailors around Boston shook their heads and said that an education, six years in the Navy, and three more in command of a big schooner was not enough to bring a man success in the risky business of privateering. But others said that this five-foot-ten, black-haired fellow had the look of the sea in him. "You never can tell," they said.

By the summer of 1813 Rodger Possible had proved the nay-sayers were wrong, by making several successful (and highly profitable!) cruises with the _Kimberly Ann_. He had also made virtual idiots of several British warship captains as well.

On a fine summer day in 1813, the _Kimberly Ann_ drove through the gentle swells of the Caribbean, steadily overhauling a British merchantman. The prey was ship-rigged, well laden, and trying to outsail the American privateer. But it was a contest between a plow horse and a racing stallion.

Rodger studied the merchant ship through his spyglass, and noted that in spite of two shots from his bowchaser there was no sign that she was going to heave to and surrender. The first shot had gone across the bow, and the second had been very close alongside. This one was clearly going to need a bit more persuasion. He closed the spyglass with a snap and called to his gunner.

"Mr. Whitmarsh! Another shot, if you please; and make it put the fear of God in her crew!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Whitmarsh saw to the loading of the powder charge, and then picked up one of the special round-shot he had filed smooth for use in the chase guns. He swore this would make them fly straight and true to the target, and nine times out of ten they did just that.

The 18-pounder long gun was loaded, run out, and Whitmarsh gazed along the line of sight for almost a full minute before he straightened up, judged the rise and fall of the bow, and then tugged the lanyard. The gun roared, the cloud of powder smoke blew off to leeward and Rodger followed the flight of the shot with a critical gaze. The ship's mainsail suddenly collapsed in a tangle of canvas and a cloud of splintered wood from a shattered mainyard. There was a flurry of activity among the figures of the merchantman's crew, her flag came down and she turned into the wind, losing speed and heaving to as the sails were clewed up.

"Very good, Mr. Whitmarsh, you can cease firing," Rodger ordered. "But keep the guns ready, just in case of tricks."

A short time later the merchantman rode the Caribbean swells a hundred yards under the _Kimberly Ann's_ lee. Rodger trained his spyglass on her and read the name _Doris Peters _on the stern. She was a handsome ship; the brightwork gleamed, and the paint looked fresh.

Usually he would send a boarding party under one of his midshipmen — Captain Possible ran his ship Navy fashion and had given his officers and men Navy titles — but he decided to board this ship himself. Turning over the deck to Mr. Hubbard, his first officer, he descended to his gig and was rowed across to the _Doris Peters_, followed by the longboat carrying the men who had been told off as a prize crew.

He went up the wooden rungs to the entry port of the merchantman, and was met by a glum, solidly-built man who was trying to be civil and doing a poor job of it.

"I'm Edward Williams, first mate. I struck our flag after you brought down the mainyard." He made no attempt to shake hands; neither did Roger extend his hand. When you capture a ship in wartime some social conventions are passed over.

"I hoped you'd heave to after the first shot across your bows," Possible said. "It's unfortunate that your captain paid no heed. I trust that the captain hasn't been wounded?"

Williams shook his head. "The captain refused to strike, but I took the responsibility after we were hit. Captain O'Neill is in the main cabin aft, with a dozen pistols loaded and ready, daring anyone to enter."

Possible reflected that while he had met with many situations as a Navy officer, a merchant captain and a privateer, this was one that he had not had to face before. He shrugged it off as just one more aspect of his business, and said to Williams, "If you'll come along with me, perhaps we can convince Captain O'Neill to see reason."

Williams didn't move. "If you don't mind, I'd rather stay here. It's likely the captain would shoot me on sight for surrendering. She's in a frightful rage."

"As you wish. I'll beard the lion myself." Rodger had taken three steps aft before the meaning of Williams' words registered in his mind. He stopped, turned and came back to the mate. "You said 'she.' Do you mean the captain of this ship is a woman?"

Williams nodded, a faint smile on his face. "Aye — a sort of Amazon. But I don't recall ever hearing that the Amazons were seagoing."

Rodger swore under his breath. A woman captain? Beyond any doubt she'd be a harridan, fat and half drunk, with a bottle of rum at her side and a cutlass between her teeth. It all sounded unlikely, but Williams seemed to be too unimaginative a man to make up such a tale by himself. First, however, there was the matter of the ship.

He turned to the midshipman who would command the prize crew. "As soon as you've repaired the damage, make ready to get sail on her, Mr. Murray. What casualties are there?"

"Four wounded — none seriously — and two dead, sir." He added, "They were struck by the mainyard when it fell."

"Very good." It was the traditional answer, without the meaning a landsman would give it. "Have the ship's sailmaker stitch them up. I suppose Mr. Williams will want to conduct the burial service. Pass the word for me when everything's ready so that I can attend."

At the entrance to the cabin Rodger paused, put his hand on the hilt of his sword, and then released it. A woman captain was not something to get in a panic over! He put his hand on the door handle, turned it, and stepped inside.

Captain O'Neill sat at a table, facing him. There was no cutlass in her teeth, but the table was covered with pistols, all loaded, cocked and neatly arranged, ready to be picked up and fired. Each slender hand of the captain held a pistol already with a practiced air that indicated she well knew how to use them. And she was no half-drunken harridan! His eyes narrowed in speculation and admiration as he studied her green eyes, red hair and the evenly tanned skin of her face.

Commodore Preble had insisted that the midshipmen of the _Constitution_ learn correct manners so that they could properly represent their service and country when greeting foreign guests who came on board. Rodger had learned his lessons well, and now made his best bow to Captain O'Neill.

"Rodger Possible, master of the American privateer brig _Kimberly Ann_."

He used a deceptively lazy tone that had charmed young ladies from Malta to Maracaibo. "I must admit that I've never met so beautiful a ship's captain before."

The emerald eyes and both pistols held steady. "You didn't need to capture my ship in order to pay me an empty compliment. You're no more than a pirate, and I'll thank you to take your crew of bucanneers and get off my decks."

"Perhaps you've not heard that the United States has been at war with England these past fourteen months," Possible politely remarked.

"I'm neither stupid nor ignorant," Captain O'Neill said sharply. "I know about your war, but that doesn't mean that some Yankee Doodle with letters of marque and reprisal in his pocket can soil my decks. Get out!"

Possible moved a few paces into the cabin. "Look, can't we be sensible about this? With two broadsides I could have smashed your fine ship to junk if I had wanted to. But now that I've met her captain I'm very glad that I did not." He pointed at a chair across the table from her. "May I sit down?"

"No." O'Neill waved the pistol in her right hand to one side. "Step over there and look at what I have here beside me."

Rodger followed her instructions and saw an open twenty-pound keg of gunpowder right beside her chair.

"All I need to do is to snap a pistol into this powder and we'll all disappear." She spoke in a conversational manner, as though they were discussing the weather.

He managed to keep his own voice light and relaxed. "I truly hope that you won't do anything so extreme."

"You need to know a few things about me, Captain Possible." She tipped her head slightly to one side as she spoke. "I'm not one of those house-and-home females who faint if they see a mouse in the room. My father took me to sea when I was twelve, shortly after mother died. That was eleven years ago, and I've seen a thing or two in those years. Two months ago, just before father died at sea on our way to the West Indies — " her voice faltered, but only for the time it took to take a breath — "I gave him my sworn word that this ship would always be sailed with honesty and fairness."

Captain O'Neill straightened slightly, and seemed to grow in stature. "And before I let some plunder-hunting freebooter take this ship as a prize, I'll destroy it, him and myself, if I must."

He hadn't any ready answer to Captain O'Neill's words, but the situation was changed when Midshipman Murray stuck his head into the room to announce that the burial service was ready.

"Do you wish to attend?" Possible asked the captain. "After all, they were members of your crew."

"I'll remain here, thank you. Perhaps the fresh air will help settle your mind to the matter of this powder keg."

The image of the determined, green-eyed redhead in the cabin stayed in Rodger's mind through the service. But after the two canvas-shrouded bodies had slid over the side and splashed into the sea he drew Midshipman Murray to one side and gave him special orders. A few minutes later Possible's gig was on its way back to the _Kimberly Ann_ to fetch the ship's gunner, Mr. Whitmarsh, and a small cage containing the gunner's pets.

While waiting for the gig's return he helped Murray organize hands to replace the mainyard and make other repairs. He also reflected that women should not be allowed to fight wars. If they did, it would make the wars much too dangerous for men.

Whitmarsh was the best gunner Possible had ever seen, both in the Navy and as a privateer. Because of this Rodger allowed Whitmarsh to bring a small cage of eight white mice with him on the _Kimberly Ann_. The other hands had been amused by the mice, and now, after four cruises, had almost come to regard the creatures as members of the crew. Once Whitmarsh and the small cage of white mice were on board, Possible picked one of his best seamen and led him and Whitmarsh to the cabin entrance. He explained the situation, and gave specific instructions to them both.

"Now, Whitmarsh, I will leave the door ajar. A minute or two after I go in, you open the cage and shoo the mice inside. Then both of you just stand by. When I shout for you to enter, don't waste time doing it!" he finished. If the two men thought that their captain was crazy — and they probably did — there was no sign of it.

Rodger nodded once, turned, and put his hand to the door. _It'll be "Hello, Saint Peter" if this goes wrong_, he thought, as he stepped into the cabin where Captain O'Neill sat with pistols and open powder keg at the ready.

**TBC . . .**

**Author's Disclaimer and Notes:** The Disney Company owns the Kim Possible concept and characters.

The War of 1812 is part of American history.

The plot of this story is my responsibility.

Please leave a review if you can. All comments and criticism will be replied to.

**Glossary:**

Acting Lieutenant - A rank in the early nineteenth-century American Navy above a Midshipman and below a Lieutenant. The modern equivalent is Lieutenant (junior grade).

bowchaser - A cannon mounted at the forward part of the upper deck, used for firing at a ship that is being chased.

brig - A two-masted sailing vessel with square sails on both masts.

broadside - Most sailing ships' guns were mounted to fire over the side. When all the guns on one side are fired at the same time, it is a "broadside."

bulwark - The solid sides of a ship that extend above the deck, topped with a rail. They are usually from five to seven feet tall.

entry port - A section of a ship's bulwarks with a opening cut out to permit persons to leave or board a ship without having to climb over the top of the bulwark.

frigate - A sailing warship equivalent to a World War Two cruiser, used for scouting, convoy duty and patroling against privateers and small enemy warships. It is a three-masted vessel with square sails on all three masts.

heave to - To turn a sailing ship directly into the wind and adjust the sails so that the ship stops moving.

lanyard - A short piece of light rope or heavy cord, used to trip the flintlock firing mechanism of a ship's cannon.

prize crew - Crewmen detailed to take over a captured ship and sail it to a friendly port.

round-shot - A solid iron ball that is fired from a ship's cannon; the classic "cannon ball."

sailmaker - Crewman who makes and repairs the sails of a sailing ship. When a body must be buried at sea, the sailmaker stitches up a shroud made of sailcloth to hold the body.

strike - To lower a ship's flag as a sign of surrender.

18-pounder - A cannon that throws a cannon ball that weighs eighteen pounds.


	3. Chapter 3

**Privateer Possible - Part Two**

**Author's Explanation:** At one point in my first Kim Possible fanfic, "The Claws of the Kitten," James Possible told Tim & Jim that one of their ancestors was a privateer, and not a pirate. This new story developed as I thought about that ancestor, and what he might have done.

My thanks to CajunBear73, Mahler Avatar, muzzlehatch, and EnterpriseCV-6 for their comments.

Some of the terms used in this story may be unfamiliar to many readers, so I will include a list of those terms, with explanations, with each part of the story as they are introduced.

Now, read on, and learn more about a seagoing member of the Possible family . . .

**Part Two**

Captain O'Neill, lovely and determined, still sat behind the table, pistols in hand, wearing the same stern expression she'd had before.

"Now that you've disposed of the men you murdered, are you ready to allow a harmless merchantman to resume its voyage?" Her voice was as cold as a winter gale in New England waters.

Possible gave a sigh. "As I pointed out a short time ago, your country and mine are at war, and your ship has fallen fair game. Arguing about it will change nothing. The sooner you accept the situation, the better. I'll transfer you to the _Kimberly Ann_ while my prize crew take this ship to an American port."

"I'll accept that as a compliment," she said with a smile. "You fear that I'd rally the men and free this ship from your prize crew, no doubt?"

Rodger's patience was wearing thin, and her remark prodded him into a short, hard laugh. "Hardly. Our government will pay one hundred dollars for every British seaman that is turned in to an American sheriff, so I regard this ship's crew as a potential source of profit." Her expression shifted to surprise and then indignation before he continued. "But your crew will all have to be confined below decks during the voyage, which would hardly be suitable for a young lady."

Captain O'Neill's features froze in a picture of fury. "So, you're a slave-catcher as well as a pirate! Well, I'll not do a bit of work for any Yankee, not even if it means I'll be locked in a smelly prison for the rest of this foolish war of yours!"

He was beginning to wonder if the mice had gone the other way, instead of into the cabin, when he felt something cross his foot. He looked down carelessly for a moment, and saw that the mice were spreading out across the cabin floor. The small creatures were unafraid of humans after four cruises aboard the _Kimberly Ann_ and were eager to explore their new surroundings. He saw two of the mice go under the table toward Captain O'Neill's chair.

"And what's more — " She stopped in mid-sentence, her face shifting from anger to puzzlement and then mounting alarm. She pushed her chair back and took a horrified glance toward the hem of her skirt, giving a very uncaptainlike squeak of dismay at the same time.

Possible saw the chance he needed. His long arms shot across the table, grabbed her wrists and turned her arms upward. Both pistols fired with a sound that slammed at his ears, and the lead bullets plowed into an overhead beam. She freed one hand and tried to snatch a fresh pistol from the table, but Rodger quickly rounded the end of the table and held her close against him, pinning both her hands behind her back.

The mice were forgotten, and she struggled like a panther in a net while Possible shouted for Whitmarsh and the seaman. The cabin door flew open as they entered. Whitmarsh promptly seized the powder keg and carried it out as carefully as a young father carries his newborn son. Once powder and pistols were gone Whitmarsh collected his mice. As soon as he had made his final exit, Rodger, unable to resist, kissed Captain O'Neill soundly — she promptly bit him.

Rodger released the young woman, but made certain that he stayed between her and a rack of cutlasses on the cabin bulkhead. The thought crossed his mind that if a score of such females were to board the _Kimberly Ann_ with weapons in hand, his crew would have little chance of winning the battle.

She sat down, more exhausted by her anger than from the tussle with Possible. "A Yankee trick," she panted. "To take a ship by scaring a woman with a plague of mice!"

"You do the little fellows an injustice," Rodger remarked, as he visually checked the cabin for other weapons than the cutlassses. "They're clean, well-mannered and fine companions. If our voyage home is drawn out you may come to enjoy their company."

"I believe I will . . . in prefence to the company of their Captain!" she coldly replied.

At that point Midshipman Murray came to the cabin door, reporting that they had finished replacing the mainyard, and that the sails of a ship had been sighted, on a course toward the _Kimberly Ann_ and its prize. "We can see her royals from the main top, sir, and I think she may be a man-o'-war."

"If it's a ship and she's steering towards us, then she'll probably be a frigate, and British as well, likely." Rodger considered what he knew of the few frigates in the small U. S. Navy. "Only the _President_ and the _Congress_ are presently at sea, to my knowledge."

"It's a fine British frigate," said Captain O'Neill, "I met her yesterday. And she has a captain who'll be glad to blow your pirate brig out of the water."

"He'll have to catch me first," Possible remarked, "and that's been tried before. What's your cargo?"

"Sugar and hardwoods from Jamaica," she replied. "But you'll never see a shilling for it!"

Possible ignored her retort, and gave a stream of orders to Murray. "As soon as the gig has left, clap on all the sail you can and get under way. Divide your crew into a watch and two working parties. Set one party to jettison the guns; they weigh about eight tons in total, and every ton overboard will bring her higher in the water. The other party can check the water casks and see what can be spared. Don't bother hoisting them on deck, just drain them into the bilges and get the pumps at work. Every ton she's lightened means more speed."

As he paused for breath, Rodger thought he could see a flicker of respect in the young woman's green eyes. But there was no time for speculation, and he kept his attention on Murray. "Hoist the British flag, and I'll keep ours flying as well. If that is a British warship I'll try and keep him busy while you pull away. If her captain knows of the _Kimberly Ann_ he may chase us instead of you." Murray's eyes gleamed with eagerness to be away.

Rodger clapped the Midshipman on the back. "Tend to your ship, Mr. Murray, and good luck!" He turned back to the captain and said, "I can give you five minutes to get a few things and be on deck, no more."

He was out the cabin door before she could answer and was immediately involved with Murray in the business of getting the working parties organized. He briefly wondered if the young woman would resist leaving her ship, but in barely four minutes, not five, he found her standing by the entry port clutching a bundle, with stray locks of her hair fluttering like a mist in the wind.

His gig raced back to the _Kimberly Ann_, where Hubbard had the crew ready to hoist in the boat and make sail as soon as the gig was on board. He sent the young woman below to his cabin, without any protest from her, and felt the familiar thrill of danger and delight as his brig lifted the wings of its sails to the wind. The _Doris Peters_ was moving too, and he saw two splashes along her larboard side. Through his spyglass he noted that Murray had made a swift and efficent job of chopping away the bulwarks and then cutting the gun tackles. As the ship had heeled the two guns had quickly gone overboard. Murray was doing very well, and would get an extra share of the prize money if he succeeded in getting the _Peters_ to an American port.

The royals of the strange sail were now in view from the deck of the _Kimberly Ann_, and Possible could see the stranger was on the larboard tack, as was his brig. A glance astern showed him that Murray had the prize on the starboard tack and was pulling away from the _Kimberly Ann_, as if he were escaping from the American vessel. That was good; the farther Rodger could lead the frigate from the _Doris Peters_ the better Murray's chances at getting away.

"I think he's weathering on us, sir," said Hubbard. "Shouldn't we down helm more?"

"No, let him follow us for a time while Murray gets away. In any case, he's not forereaching on us," Rodger calmly replied. "And keep those reefs in the topsails, Mr. Hubbard, but be ready to sheet home at my order."

"Aye, aye, sir." Hubbard had been with the ship since its first cruise, and he had come to trust his Captain's judgment, but no privateer enjoyed seeing a British warship slowly closing in on them.

The stranger was lying a trifle — half a point, perhaps — nearer to the wind, which let the frigate slowly close the distance between them. Both vessels were traveling through the water at much the same speed, however, so the approaching ship held steady on the same bearing.

Rodger studied the strange sail through his spy-glass. He could see her topsails now, and there was a pennant flying from her masthead. A man-o'-war, definitely. Then a hail came from the lookout, who was perched atop the _Kimberly Ann's_ own mainmast.

"Deck there! She's a frigate, sir, with twelve guns a side on her gun deck!"

"Well, Captain, are you ready to surrender?"

At the sound of a female voice Rodger turned to see Captain O'Neill standing behind him.

"You should stay below," Rodger protested. "You'll be safer in the cabin."

"One good British broadside will tear this little brig to bits, so I doubt if it matters where I stay," she firmly replied. "In any event, I'd rather see what happens."

Rodger turned his attention back toward the British frigate, which was hull up to him now. He swung about to study the _Doris Peters_ through his spy-glass, and noted that only the topsails of the merchantman were visible as she opened the distance from the _Kimberly Ann _and her pursuer. He turned back toward the frigate just in time to see a puff of powder-smoke on her forecastle, and then see the splash of a round-shot hitting the sea a hundred yards short of his brig.

Captain O'Neill came around to face him, her face mixture of puzzlement and disgust.

"This is folly! You've reefed your topsails and he's almost in range with his guns. There's such a thing as being too bold. Or do you want to be captured for some strange reason?"

He gazed at her curiously. "Just whose side are you on, Miss O'Neill?"

Her blush almost matched the color of her hair. "It was the excitement of the moment," she said furiously, and turned away from him.

Addressing her back, Possible remarked, "I've no intention of being caught, my lady, nor in being sunk." He called out to his first lieutenant, "Mister Hubbard!"

"Aye, sir."

"Shake out those reefs and sheet home the topsails. Bring her as close to the wind as we can go, and let her run!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Hubbard passed on the orders and the brig's crew swarmed up the masts to loosen the topsails, while the helmsman shifted the wheel and the _Kimberly Ann's _course diverged slightly from that of the frigate. As the full spread of the sails caught the air the brig began to visibly pull further ahead and creep upwind of the frigate.

A minute later the frigate yawed slighty downwind and her larboard side was masked in clouds of smoke as she fired a full broadside. A few of the shot went wide and most fell short, but by some freak of nature one skipped from the surface of the sea and carried onward to come sailing over the starboard rail of the _Kimberly Ann._ It came close enough to him that Possible could feel the wind made by its passage, which was followed a second later by a very feminine scream.

**TBC . . .**

**Author's Disclaimer and Notes:** The Disney Company owns the Kim Possible concept and characters.

The War of 1812 is part of American history.

The plot of this story is my responsibility.

Please leave a review if you can. All comments and criticism will be replied to.

**Glossary:**

down helm - To turn a ship's bow and trim the sails so that it is sailing close to the direction from which the wind is coming.

forereaching - When two ships are sailing on the same course, if one goes through the water faster than the other, it is said to be "forereaching" on the slower ship.

hull up - When a ship approachs another one at sea, more and more of its upperworks become visible. When the hull of the approaching ship can be seen, it is said to be "hull up."

larboard tack - A ship that is sailing with the wind coming from the left (larboard) side. When the wind is coming over the right (starboard) side, the ship is said to be on the starboard tack.

reef - A reef is a portion of a sail that is rolled up and tied off so as to reduce the sail's total area exposed to the wind. This reduces the strain on the masts and rigging when the wind is strong.

royals - Sailing warships could set four sails on the yards of each mast. Starting with the lowest and largest, they were named the 'course,' the 'topsail,' the 'topgallant' sail and the 'royal' sail. Therefore, when a warship under full sail was sighted at a long distance, the royal sails would be the first things seen, since the rest of the masts and sails would be below the horizon.

sheet home - In a ship's rigging, the sheets are the lines of rope connected to the lower corners of square sails. When the command "sheet home" is given, it means to pull down the lower edge of the sail until it is fully spread to catch the wind, and so increase the speed of the ship.

weathering - When two ships are sailing on the same course, and one can sail closer to the direction from which the wind is blowing, it will gradually get closer to a ship to windward of it, or further away from a ship to leeward. It is then said to be "weathering" on the other vessel.

yaw - A temporary change of course, it can be deliberate or accidental.


	4. Chapter 4

**Privateer Possible - Part Three**

**Author's Explanation:** At one point in my first Kim Possible fanfic, "The Claws of the Kitten," James Possible told Tim & Jim that one of their ancestors was a privateer, and not a pirate. This new story developed as I thought about that ancestor, and what he might have done.

My thanks to CajunBear73, Mahler Avatar, muzzlehatch, and EnterpriseCV-6 for their comments.

Some of the terms used in this story may be unfamiliar to many readers, so I will include a list of those terms, with explanations, with each part of the story as they are introduced.

Now, read on, and learn more about a seagoing member of the Possible family . . .

**Part Three**

Rodger instantly turned toward the sound and saw that Captain O'Neill was stiffly standing where she had been before, her face white as a freshly-holystoned deck. He stepped forward and asked, "Are you hurt, Miss O'Neill?"

She shook her head, but seemed to be unable to speak. Then she swallowed, took a deep breath, and replied, "N . . . no . . . I'm . . . all . . . right."

"Why did you scream?"

"That roundshot . . . it came so close to you I thought - " She hesitated. "I thought you'd been struck . . . " Her voice faded out, and after a moment she took a second deep breath and said, "It's not important, Captain Possible. You'd better look to your ship, rather than try to court an enemy."

Rodger recalled himself to his duty and glanced about to see what damage the _Kimberly Ann_ had taken. There was a scar on the deck planks leading to the larboard bulwark, where the British shot had half-buried itself in the timber. There was no obvious damage to the guns or the rigging, so Possible turned back to watch the British frigate.

It had already fallen slightly aft and downwind. The _Kimberly Ann_ was unhurt and pulling out of reach of the frigate's guns. But the warship was holding its course, still in pursuit of the brig. Rodger nodded.

"Mr. Hubbard! Clear away the sternchaser. We'll return the British compliment," he added, and gestured at the bulwark and the enemy roundshot.

The _Kimberly Ann_ carried a pair of long guns, one forward and the other aft, as chase guns, along with the short-barreled carronades that made up most of her armament. Rodger cast a critical eye toward the frigate while Whitmarsh oversaw the preparations of the eighteen-pounder and finally reported, "Ready to open fire, sir."

"Very well. Carry on, Mr. Whitmarsh, and give the British lion a poke on the nose."

Captain O'Neill had remained on deck, watching the activity. When he could spare her a glance, Possible noticed that she was taking in everything, saying nothing, and frowning with a mixture of annoyance and puzzlement. He told Hubbard to have some men pry the shot from the bulwark, and then watched carefully as Whitmarsh pulled the firing lanyard taut.

The brig was pitching slightly, and Whitmarsh stood, judging the motion of the vessel for almost two minutes before he tugged on the lanyard as the stern dipped. The flintlock firing mechanism sparked, the powder flashed and a moment later, as the _Kimberly Ann's _stern rose, the gun roared!

Rodger could just follow the flight of the ball, like a tiny pencil-mark being made and erased simultaneously, It ended with a splash just short of the frigate's bow.

"Short, but close; and the aim was good. Try again, Whitmarsh."

"You're baiting him," Captain O'Neill's voice came to Rodger's ears. "Daring him to try to catch you, while your prize crew sails away with my ship!"

"He hit me, Miss O'Neill. He must expect to get hit himself in return," Rodger remarked, a touch of amusement in his voice. "Such things happen in a war at sea, you know."

"Childish games at the risk of men's lives, I call it." She turned her back to him, with a snort of disgust.

The British shot had been pulled out of the bulwark and rolled aft toward the chase gun. Rodger called Whitmarsh to look at it, while the gun crew continued to load and fire. The gunner gave the iron sphere a critical inspection. He got a metal ring with a handle, and checked the size of the object carefully.

"Shot gauge fits, sir. It's 'bout the size of ours," the gunner finally reported. "We can use it."

"Very good." Before Rodger could say more, there was a cheer from the gun crew.

"That's a hit!" someone shouted, and Rodger gestured at the British shot on the deck.

"We have the range, Mr Whitmarsh. Load that, and give them a taste of their own metal."

"As I said, it's just a game to you." Captain O'Neill's voice dripped with scorn.

"Well, Miss O'Neill, I know where that came from," Rodger observed, gesturing at the roundshot. "To send it back is just common courtesy."

She turned away to watch the gun crew at their labor. The sponge on its flexible handle was thrust into the gun, which had grown hot with the dozen shots fired so far, hissing as it touched the hot metal. As the sponge came out a paper cartridge was torn open and pushed into the bore where the rammer thrust it farther in. A big wad of felt was rammed in next, to hold the powder charge firmly in the breech. Then the ball went rolling down on top of the charge, followed by a second wad to hold all in place.

Whitmarsh primed the gun, took the lanyard in hand and stood aside, judged the brig's motion, and then jerked the lanyard hard. The gun recoiled, held by the breeching ropes, as the powder smoke swirled around the gun crew and was then whipped forward by the wind.

Rodger couldn't track the flight of the ball this time, but then he saw the frigate's fore-topsail fall down on itself. From a clear-cut rectangle it suddenly became a vague strip across the foremast, flapping in the wind. The frigate yawed upwind at the loss of the balancing pressure of the fore-topsail, and began to visibly fall astern of the brig. Someone started to cheer, and the cheering spread along the deck.

"A very good shot, Mr. Whitmarsh." Rodger had barely spoken when he saw the frigate loose a defiant broadside in an effort to cripple the _Kimberly Ann_ before she got out of range. There was a moment of concern until Possible saw a cluster of jets of water rise a cable's length astern. The British aim was good, but their guns had not been elevated enough.

Rodger raised his spyglass and studied the British frigate carefully. He could see signs of activity in the foremast rigging; the frigate's crew was clearing away wreckage and making repairs. At the same time other sail was being set to bring the ship back under control. The question now was whether the frigate would continue to pursue the brig, or shift its course to go after the prize.

Whitmarsh turned from the gun and spoke to him.

"She's out of range now, sir."

He lowered the spyglass and answered, "Very well. Secure the gun. Well done, Mr. Whitmarsh."

Then Rodger addressed Captain O'Neill.

"If you were hoping to be rescued by that frigate, I believe that you'll be disappointed."

"A Royal Navy frigate captain won't be put off by a single hit," she stoutly replied. "He'll follow you home and into harbor if he has to."

Rodger turned to study the set of the _Kimberly Ann's_ sails, hiding a smile as he did. Everything aloft was drawing well as the brig drove on. He hailed the lookouts.

"Aloft, there! Is the horizon clear?"

"Only the frigate in sight, sir!" came the answer.

"Mr. Hubbard, you may dismiss one watch to have some dinner, but keep the ship cleared for action. No galley fire, I fear."

"It'll be no problem, sir. The cook had things ready, just in case," the mate answered.

"Very well. Once the first watch has eaten, recall them and let the other get a meal. Notify me at once if the wind changes." He turned to the young lady. "Miss O'Neill, will you share a meal with . . . a 'Yankee Doodle,' I believe you called me?" Rodger asked. "The water is still clear, and the meat is good."

She nodded silently.

After giving orders to a member of the crew to fetch a meal for himself and O'Neill, Rodger escorted the young lady below to his cabin. Since the brig's guns were all on the weather deck it had not been necessary to dismantle his cabin when clearing the ship for action, so the small table and two chairs were available to seat his guest and himself. The food arrived a minute later. Ship's biscuits, cold cooked meat and fresh water was set before them.

"Unfortunately I have no special cabin stores for you, Miss O'Neill. I share the same fare as my crew, you see."

"Very high-sounding, Captain Possible," she replied, after taking a drink. "But I'll admit that what you offer is of good quality."

Rodger smiled. "A compliment? To 'a pirate?'"

She frowned and blushed slightly at the same time. "My father had a well-earned reputation for honesty in all things, and he said that when you speak the truth you never have to eat your own words."

"Your father sounds like a sensible man," Rodger remarked. As if they had an unspoken agreement to avoid the matter of Miss O'Neill's ship and herself being captured, their conversation continued along polite lines for a time. The cabin skylight was open and through it they heard the bustle as the first watch came back on duty and the second watch went to dinner. But as time passed Rodger realized that something was tapping at his mind. The brig was not heeling as much as it had been, and the sounds through the skylight had changed.

"Much as I enjoy your company, Miss O'Neill, I do have a ship to oversee." He pushed back his chair. "You may come on deck or remain here, as you prefer."

Before she could answer there was a knock on the sliding door in the bulkhead. Rodger called out, "Come in."

Fraser, one of the Midshipmen, entered.

"Mr. Hubbard's respects, Captain, and he thinks the wind is failing."

"Tell Mr. Hubbard I'll be right up." Rodger picked up his hat and followed Fraser out the door before Miss O'Neill could say a word.

Once on deck Rodger immediately saw that the wind had definitely lessened. The sails were almost slack, and the brig was losing speed steadily.

"The wind began to fail barely five minutes past, Captain," Hubbard reported. "But it looks as if _he_ still has a useful breeze." He pointed astern.

Rodger took the spyglass from Hubbard's outstretched hand and studied the British frigate. Her sails were still drawing well, and a new fore topsail was in place. Even as he watched he heard his own sails flap, and the helmsman call out.

"We've lost steerage way, sir! I can't hold the course."

"Very well," Rodger answered automatically, even though the situation was far from being well. The British frigate had fourteen or fifteen long guns on each side of her gun deck, plus any chase guns that were on her forecastle and quarterdeck. If the wind held for her, the frigate could come up to where her long guns would reach the _Kimberly Ann_ while remaining out of range of the brig's carronades. The British warship could pound the American brig to pieces with almost no damage in return from Rodger's two long guns.

"That frigate captain must have a sack of extra wind in his hold, sir," Hubbard remarked humorlessly. "We're becalmed and yet he still moves."

"A situation we must alter, if we can," Possible replied. "Mr. Whitmarsh! Prepare the chase guns for action. Perhaps we can wing him again, once he comes into range."

As the gunner and guns' crews cast loose the two long guns, Rodger checked the sails and then scanned the horizon for any signs of an approaching wind. As he did, he noticed that Miss O'Neill was on the quarterdeck again.

"I hope you won't shed the blood of your crew uselessly, Captain Possible. With only two long guns against fifteen you have no chance at all." There was concern in her voice, he noticed.

"Not at all, Miss O'Neill. I have every intention of delivering you safely to Boston."

"Can you 'summon spirits from the vasty deep,' like the Welsh wizard, to bring you a wind?" she replied.

"As Hotspur asked the wizard, 'will they do come' if I call? But chance and change is ever present in war at sea, and I'll not yield until I must," Possible remarked, as he raised the spyglass to his eye again. Silently he studied the frigate. She was still slightly out of gun range.

"Deck, there!" the lookout hailed. "The frigate's losing the wind!"

"Yes!" Hubbard shouted, and pointed at the British warship. "Look at her mainsail, its gone limp as a rag!"

"Thank you, Mr. Hubbard, I see it. His topsails are failing now too, I see," Rodger swept the frigate's rigging with the spyglass, and then lowered it with a satisfied sigh.

"Have the hands all had their dinners, Mr. Fraser?" he asked the nearest Midshipman.

"Aye, sir, starboard watch finished just before the wind failed," he answered.

"Then have the longboat put in the water and run out a towline. We will have some rowing to do, I think."

**TBC . . .**

**Author's Disclaimer and Notes:** The Disney Company owns the Kim Possible concept and characters.

The War of 1812 is part of American history.

The plot of this story is my responsibility.

Some of the terms used in this story may be unfamiliar to many readers, so I will include a list of those terms, with explanations, with each part of the story as they are introduced.

Please leave a review if you can. All comments and criticism will be replied to.

**Glossary:**

breeching ropes - Heavy ropes that go from the breech end of a ship's gun to the ship's sides, used to check the recoil when the gun is fired.

cable's length - In the days of sail the word "cable" had two meanings. It could mean a heavy rope or a chain fastened to a ship's anchor, or it could mean a distance of 720 feet.

carronade - A short, very powerful cannon developed at the Carron Ironworks, in Scottland. It could accurately throw a larger ball than a long gun of the same weight, but did not have a long gun's range.

holystone - A large, flat stone used to clean and whiten a vessel's decks.

long gun - A standard ship's gun, with a longer barrel than a carronade.

steerage way - When a ship is moving through the water fast enough to make the rudder effective, the ship is said to "have steerage way."

watch - A ship's crew was divided into two equal sections, known as the starboard watch and the larboard watch. While one watch was on duty, the other watch could eat, rest, and tend to personal matters, such as repairing their clothing.

weather deck - The topmost complete deck on a ship, so-called because anyone on that deck would be exposed to the weather.


	5. Chapter 5

**Privateer Possible - Part Four**

**Author's Explanation:** At one point in my first Kim Possible fanfic, "The Claws of the Kitten," James Possible told Tim & Jim that one of their ancestors was a privateer, and not a pirate. This new story developed as I thought about that ancestor, and what he might have done.

My thanks to CajunBear73, Mahler Avatar, muzzlehatch, and EnterpriseCV-6 for their comments.

Some of the terms used in this story may be unfamiliar to many readers, so I will include a list of those terms, with explanations, with each part of the story as they are introduced.

Now, read on, and learn more about a seagoing member of the Possible family . . .

**Part Three**

An hour had passed since the wind had fallen away — an hour filled with brisk activity both for the _Kimberley Ann_ and the British frigate. As the brig's longboat had rowed out before the privateer with the towing hawser, a hail from the lookout had told them all that the frigate was hoisting out her own longboat and a cutter as well. Rodger promptly had the sternchaser readied for action in case his pursuers intended to board him, but all the two boats did was draw out towlines and begin pulling the warship after the brig. Once the slow-motion pursuit had settled into a routine, Rodger had a minute to spare for Miss O'Neill.

He found the red-haired lady in the shade of the limp-hanging mainsail, sitting on a folding stool from the midshipmen's cabin. She looked up at him and remarked, "I asked one of your officers if there was something I could sit on while I watched what is going on. He brought me this seat; I trust you approve?"

"You needn't stay on deck, ma'am; it's likely to be some time before the wind returns."

"Which do you expect to arrive first? The wind, or the frigate?" Her voice and expression were polite, as if they were discussing the weather. And in a sense, of course, they were.

"The _Kimberley Ann_ is lighter and draws less than that warship, so I expect we'll be able to remain out of range for some hours," Rodger calmly replied. "And if he gets too close we'll fire on his boats to discourage them." He turned to gaze astern for a moment.

"He has a bigger crew than you do, and his rowers can rest more often than yours. How long before you're all exhausted, Captain?" she asked him. "Are you certain you can still escape?"

"Nothing is certain in war at sea," Rodger absently remarked. He raised the spyglass and scanned the horizon. A totally flat calm sea with no wind — a rarity in these waters, but not unheard of. His crew would tire with the labor of towing, and Captain O'Neill was correct in her estimate of the situation, for the British warship had more men than did the _Kimberley Ann_.

"Mr. Hubbard, keep a close watch on that frigate and let me know at once if they appear to be gaining on us, even if you're not sure."

"Aye, aye, sir." Hubbard went to the taffrail and studied the distance. Then he glanced up at the brig's masts, where the sails hung slack.

"Should I set the larboard watch to hoisting up water to wet the sails, sir?"

"No, let them rest. They'll need to be fresh when we change the longboat's crew," Rodger replied.

After half an hour the _Kimberley Ann_ had actually pulled a hundred yards further ahead of the frigate, and Rodger ordered the towing crew relieved. The cutter was put over the side, a relief crew was sent to the longboat, and the towing taken up again. It was done so smartly that the brig had not yet lost its way before the fresh longboat crew took up the towline slack. Rodger considered pumping some of the ship's fresh water overboard to reduce the draft, but little could be spared, and the rowers needed it.

"Mr. Whitmarsh!" Rodger called the gunner to him.

"Do you think you could skip a roundshot off the surface and into their boats?" He pointed at the longboat and cutter that were ahead of the frigate. Whitmarsh studied the distance and the state of the sea in a judgmental way before he spoke.

"It's chancy, sir, but if the range comes down a bit I can try," the stocky man replied.

"Very well. We'll hold fire for the present." The gunner went back to the gun and Rodger scanned the horizon again. There was just a slight swell, which could mean a squall over the horizon . . . but if it was there in fact, would it come this way? It might reach the frigate and bring her sweeping down on them before any wind reached the brig. And once the British ship had him in range with her long guns the chance of escape would be vanishingly small.

Roger went to the forecastle to check on how the rowers were faring. He noted that all of the broadside guns were cast loose and ready to be loaded if the need arose. The crew was well-trained, but then most of them had been with the _Kimberley Ann_ since her first privateering cruise. Everyone knew their business and was ready to do all they could to reach Boston safely.

Walking back to the quarterdeck, Rodger noticed Captain O'Neill in conversation with Midshipman Fraser. She nodded politely to Fraser and turned to speak to Rodger as he came up to her.

"Your midshipman said that your crew only get paid if you capture a merchant ship and bring it safely into an American port, Captain Possible. Is that correct?"

"It is. Privateers are businessmen, Miss O'Neill, for we invest our capital in the ship, and then try to make a profit, much as a merchant captain seeks a profit on each voyage."

"So, if you're captured you lose your investment?" she asked, in a thoughtful way.

"For myself and my crew, we would lose all we have, and our liberty as well." Possible paused briefly before he went on. "Almost all of us have put our entire savings into the _Kimberley Ann_. If we are taken we'll spend the rest of this war in Dartmoor Prison and come out penniless. If we come out at all," he added grimly.

Captain O'Neill's face showed surprise, shock and then a frown, but before she could say anything, Mr. Hubbard called out.

"Captain, I think there's a squall coming up, on the starboard beam!" He was pointing at a small, dark cloud that was growing larger and nearer by the minute. Rodger took the spyglass from Hubbard and studied the cloud mass carefully.

"Mr. Hubbard, I want you to furl the sails, and do it so that the frigate's lookouts will see it. But once the wind gets here we'll set all the sail we can and run with it. Understand?"

The Lieutenant nodded. "Aye, sir! You want to make a big show of it, as if we're snugging down for a real blow, but be ready to set the topsails once the wind hits."

"Exactly! Get the crew ready, but wait until that squall is closer." Rodger spun about and raced forward again, and called to the longboat's crew to swing the brig's bow away from the approaching squall. As he returned aft he noted that Hubbard had set the men securing the guns and any loose gear.

"Miss O'Neill, please go below; things will be very busy on deck shortly, and you'll be safer in the cabin." He didn't stay to see if she obeyed him, but went to the taffrail to view the frigate and then the squall. _Why was he concerned about Miss O'Neill's safety?_ he briefly mused. _His ship and the crew were what he needed to worry about. _

The squall was getting closer, and he now saw that a second one was following it. As he studied the approaching clouds he heard Hubbard give the orders to take in the sails. "And make a show of it!" the Lieutenant added, as the men raced up the rigging and out on the yards. Now, if the frigate's captain took this as a sign that the _Kimberley Ann_ was getting ready to weather a major storm, he should start doing the same thing.

The first puffs of wind from the squall hit Rodger's face as Hubbard made his report.

"All secure, sir, but I can goose-wing the topsails any time, or set them with a full reef if you'd prefer it."

"Very well, Mr. Hubbard," Rodger answered, and pointed at the frigate. "What do you make of that?"

Hubbard studied the warship closely. Even without a spyglass it was easy to see how the sails were disappearing on the warship's yards as they were furled up. The frigate's longboat and cutter were also pulling the bow around to get the ship stern-on to the approaching squall.

"It 'pears to me they're getting set for a gale, sir!" He turned to grin at Rodger. "I'd say that they've swallowed the bait."

Rodger grinned in reply, then glanced toward the bow. "It's time to take in the towline and recover the longboat, Mr. Hubbard. See to that, if you please."

"Aye, aye, sir," Hubbard replied. "I'll bring the boat up to larboard, so's their lookouts will see it." He waved a hand toward the frigate as he started forward.

"Very well." Rodger noted Hubbard's initiative with satisfaction. The man used his wits and thought fast, which was just what was needed in a privateer's crew.

Possible scanned the approaching squalls again. The first one would pass between the brig and the frigate, screening them from the British lookouts, while the second should strike the _Kimberley Ann_ directly. The only questions now were, how strong a wind would come to the brig, and how quickly the frigate's captain could react when he saw what was happening.

The towline had been fully taken in and the longboat was rising slowly as tackles from the fore- and main-yards lifted it from the sea. The brig heeled to the unbalanced load, but came upright as the longboat settled onto the chocks amidships. Hands swarmed over the boat, lashing it down, while others cleared the yards and then came racing down the shrouds.

"Captain, the Britisher's taking in his towlines and boats!" Midshipman Fraser called from the rail.

Rodger took the spyglass and studied the frigate with it. Yes! She was hoisting in both boats . . . and doing a seamanlike job of it, too. He gave the British crew the respect they deserved, for they clearly knew their business.

The first squall moved in between the two ships, the frigate fading from sight as it did. There was a faint puff of wind on Rodger's cheek and he felt the brig heel slightly for a moment. Then another puff, stronger this time . . . a longer, stronger breath of wind followed . . . and then it came. A steady, rapidly rising stream of air that made the _Kimberley Ann_ start to move, even with no sails set. The British warship was completely hidden from view, which meant that the _Kimberley Ann_ was equally invisible to the frigate's crew.

"Mr. Hubbard, make sail, if you please, and run up the jib!" Hubbard had the crew moving before Rodger finished speaking, and the outer tips of the topsails quickly dropped from the yards while the jib was hoisted. The sails caught the wind, stiffened under its pressure, and in less than a minute the _Kimberley Ann_ had steerage way.

"Shall I set more sail, sir?" Hubbard asked, as the last man came down from the mainmast rigging.

Rodger judged the motion of his ship, and nodded.

"Set all she can handle, Mr. Hubbard!" Rodger glanced astern, noting that the frigate was still concealed in the squall.

"Mr. Fraser, check our speed! See what she's making," Rodger added to the Midshipman. Fraser saluted and turned at once to the task of casting the log.

The wind seemed to be gaining strength, but once under way the brig took it in stride. Visibility astern was still obscured, but the first squall was now moving past. Possible glanced along the deck and noticed, with some surprise, that Captain O'Neill was still on deck. The young woman was standing beside the mainmast, braced against the ship's roll and calmly taking in the activity around her. _Drat that woman! _thought Rodger, _I told her to go below!_

He considered personally taking her below by force, but before he could say or do anything about the matter, Fraser came to report.

"Our speed's a good ten knots, sir!" His voice betrayed his excitement. "The girls are on the towline!"

Rodger noted Fraser's use of the term for a ship moving at speed and on a course for home, but before he could comment a call came from Hubbard.

"Look there, sir! We fooled him, right enough!"

Rodger and Fraser both turned to look astern, where the frigate was again in view. Unlike the _Kimberley Ann_ the warship was still riding under bare poles, with all sails furled. The distance between the two ships had already grown by a quarter-mile, and was increasing with each minute.

The wind was driving the brig at a fine pace, and it showed no signs of fading. Rodger cast a look around the deck, noting that all seemed well. He left Hubbard in charge and strode forward to where Miss O'Neill stood by the mast, watching the activity on deck and aloft. But before Possible could say anything to her, she spoke to him.

"You have a good crew, Captain, and they handle this ship well." She smiled in a rueful manner and added, "I wish I'd had a crew as skillful, and a ship that sailed as well. Then, I'd have made it harder for you to catch me."

Momentarily, Rodger was pleased to receive her compliments, but then recalled why he had come forward.

"Miss O'Neill, if I had known in advance how reckless you are, I'd have done better to ignore your ship and chase _The Flying Dutchman _instead! You should be below decks where you'll be safer. And be able to stay dry," Possible added, sourly.

There was a flash of anger in her eyes. "I've stayed on my own quarterdeck during worse weather than this, Captain Possible, and I know how to handle myself in heavy weather." She fixed him with a cold look and added, "If you order it, I will go below, sir, but under protest."

For a full minute the two stared at each other, until a call came from Midshipman Fraser.

"The frigate's in sight again, sir!"

Rodger growled, "Do as you see fit, Ma'am." He turned on his heel and headed aft. _That female is more trouble than an British boarding party!_ he fumed, at the same time wondering briefly why this mattered at all.

**TBC . . .**

**Author's Disclaimer and Notes:** The Disney Company owns the Kim Possible concept and characters.

The War of 1812 is part of American history.

The plot of this story is my responsibility.

Please leave a review if you can. All comments and criticism will be replied to.

**Glossary:**

bare polls - When all the sails are tightly furled and no canvas can catch the wind.

flat calm - Expression meaning the sea is calm, with no waves, and there is no wind.

the girls are on the towline - Expression used when a ship is on its way home and running at high speed.

goose-wing - Only the outer tips of a furled sail are pulled down to give a small surface for a strong wind to push against.

watch - A ship's crew was divided into two equal sections, known as the starboard watch and the larboard watch. While one watch was on duty, the other watch could eat, rest, and tend to personal matters, such as repairing their clothing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Privateer Possible - Part Five**

**Author's Explanation:** At one point in my first Kim Possible fanfic, "The Claws of the Kitten," James Possible told Tim & Jim that one of their ancestors was a privateer, and not a pirate. This new story developed as I thought about that ancestor, and what he might have done.

My thanks to CajunBear73, Mahler Avatar, muzzlehatch, and EnterpriseCV-6 for their comments.

Some of the terms used in this story may be unfamiliar to many readers, so I will include a list of those terms, with explanations, with each part of the story as they are introduced.

Now, read on, and learn more about a seagoing member of the Possible family . . .

**Part Five**

The British captain had wasted no time in getting his sails set once he understood the trick that Possible had played on him. As it broke out of the squall, Rodger could see that the frigate was carrying more sail than the _Kimberley Ann_ and making a good turn of speed. Even so, the distance between the two ships remained greater than gun range. He judged the wind and sea, considered setting more sail, and then rejected the idea. If anything carried away, escape would become impossible.

"He's setting more sail, sir," Hubbard remarked. "His topgallants, with a couple of reefs, looks like," he added, with a shake of his head. Hubbbard had commanded a schooner for five years before the war and knew how to handle a ship in a stiff wind. He clearly felt the British captain was taking an inadvisable risk.

Rodger studied the distant warship with the spyglass and then glanced aloft at the _Kimberley Ann's_ sails.

"Shall I take the reefs out of our topsails, sir?" asked Hubbard. His manner was formal, by which Rodger knew that if he ordered it, it would be done, but Hubbard didn't think it was a very good idea.

Possible shook his head. "No." His assessment of the situation a minute ago still held.

A shout came from the lookout. Roger swung back to see that the frigate's fore-topgallant sail had changed from a stiff oblong into a flapping diagonal strip of canvas. A moment later the fore-topsail did the same thing, and the frigate, deprived of the pressure of the foremast sails, came around and headed into the wind.

"That's done it!" Hubbard yelled, and someone started to cheer.

Rodger judged it should take the frigate's crew the better part of an hour to clear away the wreckage, replace the yards, set fresh sail and resume the pursuit, if nothing else carried away. And by that time the American brig would be several miles farther out of range. The British captain would have to reduce the amount of sail he'd been carrying, so the chances of his catching Rodger were small. The _Kimberley Ann_ was safe — as much as any American ship could be in an ocean that was swept and searched by the British Navy.

Rodger looked forward, but could see no sign of Captain O'Neill. Leaving Hubbard in charge, he walked to the companionway, went below, and found her seated in his cabin, with arms folded and a stern expression on her face. She spoke before he could gather his thoughts.

"By the cheers of the crew I assume that you've escaped?"

He explained what had been seen and added, "Unless we meet another British man-o'-war, I think you'll have a peaceful trip to Boston."

"And captivity," she replied.

Rodger sighed. "When the _Kimberley Ann_ reaches port you will be free to go wherever you wish. I'm not turning you in to the Sheriff for the seaman's bounty."

Her expression was a mixture of surprise and puzzlement. "Indeed. And just how do you propose I get home, Captain?"

"You can stay with my uncle and aunt until you can find a neutral ship bound for England," he said shortly.

"Since I'll have no money to book a passage, it's likely to be a long wait," she snipped.

Possible gritted his teeth. _Plague take her! Can't she accept simple courtesy?_

"Of course, I might find work as a servant," she went on. "Who knows, I may earn my passage home in as little as ten years."

Possible considered offering to pay for her passage to England. _Likely she'd see something wrong in that, too,_ he thought bitterly. He paused for a moment to control himself before he spoke again.

"You can remain as a guest, as long as you wish," Rodger said. "Aunt Anne was born in London herself, and I think you will find her home as pleasant as any in England. And Boston society is not as primitive as some people in Europe maintain," he added, turning back to the cabin door. "Now, you must excuse me. I have a crew to supervise and accommodations for you must be arranged. Until later, Miss O'Neill."

He turned and strode out, leaving behind a somewhat bemused young lady pondering what had just been said — and what had _not_ been said — between them.

The squalls soon died out, but the wind held steady the rest of the day. By evening the frigate was well astern, and almost out of sight from the deck of the brig. From the lookout's post on the mainmast, where Rodger had gone to check on the pursuit himself, he could only see the British ship's royals. All the frigate's lower sails were below the horizon.

Making a final sweep of the surrounding sea for any other sails, and finding none, Rodger took a final look at the frigate. As he did so the sails seemed to wink, changing position as the British ship came about on a new tack, one that would take her away from the brig. Possible nodded, reminded the lookout to keep a sharp eye, and descended to the quarterdeck.

"I believe the British have given up the chase, Mr. Hubbard," Rodger told the first mate. "He's altered course away from us."

"Likely he expects us to change course once it's dark, sir," Hubbard remarked. "Will we?"

"No," Possible replied. "If he expects us to alter our course, holding our present course should confuse him. And we've a fair wind for Boston, at present, as it is."

Rodger's satisfaction at eluding the frigate vanished when Hubbard brought up a subject that Possible had tried to avoid remembering.

"Since we've sent off two midshipmen as prizemasters, there was some spare room in the midshipman's berth, so I had the carpenter rig a bulkhead there to give Miss O'Neill a private place for herself, Captain. She seemed to be pleased with it."

Possible nodded and took a turn around the deck before going to speak to Fraser, the senior midshipman. He was firmly instructed that there was to be no 'disturbance' concerning the ship's prisoner. Fraser replied that no-one was going to bother Miss O'Neill. "After all, sir, she's a _lady_!"

"All the same, Mr. Fraser, I hold you personally responsible for the good conduct of all members of the midshipmen's berth regarding Miss O'Neill," said Rodger, before going back to the quarterdeck.

After a final word with Hubbard, Possible went below and began writing up the smooth log concerning the day's events. This was usually a very easy task, but for once he found it somewhat difficult. A green-eyed, red-haired problem kept intruding on his thoughts with a persistence that was highly annoying.

The rest of the voyage to Boston passed with an unusual lack of excitement, for the only sails that were sighted were a barque that was prize to another American privateer and that privateer itself. Two days from Boston a group of at least six ships was spotted, but it proved to be a British convoy with a 74-gun ship of the line as escort. With an already-successful cruise behind him, Rodger remarked to Hubbard that the Royal Navy seemed to have the advantage, so they would let the convoy go on its way.

The _Kimberley Ann_ was able to slip into Boston harbor without meeting any blockaders, although the topsails of at least two British warships were spotted. As the privateer eased toward its berth Captain O'Neill came on deck, and when they passed a handsome-looking two-masted topsail schooner and a large American frigate, she asked Rodger if these were American Navy warships.

"That schooner is a new privateer, the _Prince de Neufchâtel,_" Possible politely explained, "the other is the U. S. frigate _Constitution_." He wore a satisfied smile as he went on, "You may have heard that during the first six months of the war the _Constitution_ fought battles with and captured two Royal Navy frigates."

"The _Guerriere_ and the _Java_. Yes, I've heard about that," Captain O'Neill replied as she gazed at the frigate. "She appears to be a fine ship, Captain Possible."

"She is. My first four years in the Navy were served on board the _Constitution_," Rodger added.

"But a warship should be at sea, and not sitting in a harbor, don't you think?" Her tone was light, but the question was irksome.

"I agree. And I'm certain that Captain Stewart would be glad to get to sea. But your Navy insists on having several frigates outside Boston to contest the sailing," he answered shortly. "Now, if you will excuse me, there's the task of coming to our berth that I must attend to."

His uncle and aunt were on the pier as the brig was warped in. Since there was a fine view of the entrance to Boston harbor from their house, they always knew when Rodger was returning and were always there to meet him. _I hope Miss O'Neill and Aunt Anne will like each other,_ he thought, as the gangway was swung into place.

Uncle James and Aunt Anne were the first to come on board, with a Prize Agent close at their heels. After his uncle's handshake and Aunt Anne's hug, Rodger made the Prize Agent wait while he introduced Captain O'Neill to his relatives. To his relief — and some surprise — there was neither tension nor coolness on either side. He then had to devote several minutes to the Prize Agent and the necessary paperwork concerning a barque and a brig that the _Kimberley Ann_ had captured and sent to Boston some weeks ago. When he could finally get back to them, Rodger found that his Uncle and Aunt had already decided to have Miss O'Neill to stay with them.

"Rodger, we must make arrangements for Caitlín to send a letter to her family in England, so they won't worry about her safety," said Anne, firmly.

"That's very kind, but I have no close relations there," Miss O'Neill — Caitlín — remarked. "My parents came from Ireland, so I have some cousins in Munster, but none in England itself."

Rodger reflected that after she came on board the _Kimberley Ann_ it had taken him three days to convince Miss O'Neill to divulge her first name. But his Aunt had accomplished the same task in less than fifteen minutes.

"Well, if you want to write a letter to anyone, I'm sure it can be sent to them quickly," Anne remarked confidently.

"We have a saying in our family, Miss O'Neill," said James, "that anything is possible — for a Possible."

Anne nodded toward the gangway. "Caitlín, let's leave the men to their business and take the carriage home." She turned to Rodger and crisply asked for the use of a crewman to carry Miss O'Neill's small bag of things ashore. Midshipman Fraser stepped forward to volunteer for the task as soon as Rodger answered his Aunt in the affirmative.

"Very well, Mr. Fraser, carry on," Rodger sighed. "But come right back on board!" he added.

"Aye, aye, sir." Fraser picked up the bag and hastened after the two women.

At the gangway Caitlín turned and waved farewell to the crew of the _Kimberley Ann_. One of the hands called for three cheers for her, which were promptly given with enthusiasm.

"You captured Miss O'Neill's ship, Rodger, but it would seem that she has captivated your crew," Uncle James remarked. There was a distinct touch of mirth in his voice.

"I think you'll find her an interesting house guest, Uncle," Rodger absently remarked. In the past, the most interesting and exciting part of his life had been during his times at sea instead of ashore. But as he watched his Aunt and Caitlín walk to the carriage, Rodger had a definite feeling that this would no longer be the case. And for some reason he found that idea to be very pleasant to contemplate.

**TBC . . .**

**Author's Disclaimer and Notes:** The Disney Company owns the Kim Possible concept and characters.

The War of 1812 is part of American history.

The plot of this story is my responsibility.

The privateer _Prince de Neufchâtel_ was a real ship, built at New York in 1812-1813. After sailing from Boston late in 1813 she went to France,

and from there sailed against British merchant ships in European waters. Returning to Boston in late September 1814, the privatreer sailed again in October, and was intercepted off Nantucket Island by the large British frigate HMS _Endymion_. On October 11th the wind failed, so after nighfall the British ship launched five boats with a hundred and twenty men to row to the privateer and board her. Although the _Prince de Neufchâtel_ had only thirty-seven men on board, they beat off the boat attack in one of the bloodiest sea battles of the War of 1812. It lasted twenty minutes and ended with one of the British boats sunk, a second one captured by the privateer's crew, and three drifted away in the dark. British casualties were 49 killed, 37 wounded and 30 taken prisoner. The privateer's crew had 7 killed and 24 wounded, and the ship returned safely to Boston.

The frigate _Constitution_ had a magnificent combat career during the War of 1812, and is now the oldest warship in the world that is still afloat. She is also still in commission as a ship of the U. S. Navy. After a three-year overhaul that restored the ship to her best condition since her sailing days, the _Constitution_ went to sea under sail again, off Boston, on July 21, 1997.

Please leave a review if you can. All comments and criticism will be replied to.

**Glossary:**

carried away - When some part of a ship's rigging is torn off by the wind or weather, or by battle damage, it is said to have "carried away."

Prize Agent - An official who handles the legal paperwork that is necessary when a privateer captures a merchant ship and sends it to a friendly port for the sale of the vessel and its cargo.

ship of the line - A major warship in the days of sail, equivalent to a 20th-century battleship.

smooth log - Events of the day are noted down briefly as they happen in what is called 'the rough log.' At the end of each day the captain writes up a more detailed record of these events in what is known as 'the smooth log.' This becomes the formal record of the voyage.


	7. Chapter 7

**Privateer Possible - Epilogue**

**Author's Explanation:** At one point in my first Kim Possible fanfic, "The Claws of the Kitten," James Possible told Tim & Jim that one of their ancestors was a privateer, and not a pirate. This new story developed as I thought about that ancestor, and what he might have done.

My thanks to CajunBear73, Mahler Avatar, muzzlehatch, and EnterpriseCV-6 for their comments.

**Epilogue**

A familiar sound broke Kim's concentration. She looked up, and then set aside _An Account of the Cruises of Rodger Possible_, feeling rather annoyed at having her reading interrupted. After all, it had looked as if she was getting to the really good part! Picking up the Kimunicator, Kim punched the 'receive' button, and spoke to the image of Wade Load that appeared on the little screen.

"Okay, Wade; what's the sitch?"

"There's a hit on your website, Kim," the pre-teen computer genius explained, "from England. It looks as if somebody is going to mess with the cheese races in the village of Stilton this year, and the local Council wants to know if you could investigate it."

"Wade, did you say 'cheese races?'" Kim's query was echoed by a squeak from Rufus. The mole rat had been sleeping, but he always woke up at once when his favorite food was mentioned.

"I know, it sounded strange to me, too," Wade replied. "But I've checked the 'net, and there really are cheese races in Stilton, England, each year."

Kim frowned. "Ron is away, and he won't be back until the day after tomorrow. Would I have to come right away, or can it wait until he's back?"

"The races won't be held for two weeks, so it could probably wait until Ron's back," Wade replied. "Want me to ask about that?"

"Please and thank you," Kim answered. "In the meantime I'll tell Ron about it."

"Once I've talked to the Stilton Council I'll see about setting up a ride for you." Wade was tapping a keyboard even as he spoke.

"Get all the information you can about the problem," said Kim. She hesitated, and then went on. "And by the way, I'd like you to check for any information you can find on a lady named Caitlín O'Neill."

"Sure thing, Kim; what do you have about her so far?"

Kim frowned. "Not much. She was born in Ireland sometime about 1790, her father was the captain of a merchant ship, and he died in 1813."

Wade looked up from the keyboard he'd been tapping. "_When_ did you say she was born?"

Kim repeated the date, and then told Wade what she knew so far, without explaining how she knew it. "I know it's a long shot, Wade, but see if you can turn up something."

"Okay, Kim, I'll check with the Stilton Council first, and then search for Miss O'Neill. I'll call you as soon as I have something about either one."

After Wade signed off Kim gazed at Rufus, who was standing up on the desk top, alert to anything involving cheese.

"Well, Rufus, this sounds like sort of a weird sitch."

The mole rat nodded and squeaked, "Uh-huh."

"I'd better call Ron." Kim picked up her cell phone and began punching numbers. Cheese races? While it might not be a 'save-the-world' mission, this did sound like it could be fun.

**The End . . . for now**

**Author's Disclaimer and Notes:** The Disney Company owns the Kim Possible concept and characters.

The War of 1812 is part of American history.

The plot of this story is my responsibility.

Please leave a review if you can. All comments and criticism will be replied to.

Will Kim read more of _An Account of the Cruises of Rodger Possible_? Will we learn more about Rodger Possible, his uncle and aunt, Caitlin O'Neill, and the good vessel _Kimberly Ann_? Well, that depends on anybody wanting to read more about them. Or would you rather discover who is planning to disturb the annual cheese races in Stilton, England? Let me hear from you, folks.


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